Sorry
by Rothelena
Summary: Episode tag for 3.15 "Red Gold". He finally says "Sorry" for getting her injured. PWP. Explicit. Utterly M. You're not into the filthy side of life...trust me, you don't want to read this. Otherwise-enjoy!


_Filthy. Smutty. M. PWP. You get the picture._

Sorry- Tag for ep.3.15 „Red Gold"

He watched her from her doorstep, hidden from her view. She was fuming with anger, he could see it, and it drew a tiny smile onto his lips.

She was especially beautiful when she was angry. Or completely sated in the aftermath of great sex.

He stepped out from his hiding point and almost shuddered when she glared at him. Sometimes, it was so much fun to fuck up- just to be able to make it up to her.

He approached slowly. Kicking out of his shoes. Shedding his jacket. Moving to unbutton his vest, his shirt.

He saw her eyes wander to the empty, dark space of the bullpen, checking for any possible watchers and knew she had lost. His killer smile came on. Oh, Teresa Lisbon. Still so easily readable after all this time. But maybe that was to be expected- there was no other human being in the whole wide world he knew as well as he knew her. He always saw it in her eyes if he was in any danger to be kicked out. Today was safe.

She was angry and in pain, possibly bored and a little bit lonely. And jealous- hell yeah. He could see it clearly, how much she hated to share him. Even if she just shared him on the job. He didn't mind her possessiveness. But he would weasel his way back into her good graces, right now.

He tossed his shirt on the floor and opened his belt. Pulled the zipper down, letting his slacks slide to the floor.

In the summer, he would love her in the mountains where he'd spent the whole day. Take his woman in the middle of all this beautiful nature. Too bad it was too cold for that now.

"Fuck off, Jane," she growled.

He chuckled. In his boxers? Sure.

He pushed his fingers beneath the waistband, well noticing her eyes following his every move, her tongue licking slowly over her lips. He pushed the last piece of clothing down and kicked it away. Straightening for a moment, putting his body on display just for her. Watching something melt in her hard eyes.

He might have investigated with Hightower today. But this was just for her, and she knew it.

He walked around her desk and leant against it, his body so close to hers she would be able to feel his heat.

He looked at her foot, propped up on the table next to her.

"Does it still hurt?" he asked softly.

"What do you think?" she sneered.

"Well," he said, leaning back slightly so his massive erection was far more prominent, "let's see if I can make it better."

He saw her gaze sliding over his length. It felt like a caress, and he closed his eyes when his engorged flesh quivered with anticipation.

He pushed away from her desk and pulled the seat of her chair up, so her groin was level with his. He so loved that chair, it was perfect.

"You hit me with your crutches." He said in mock accusation while he opened her pants and pushed them down her legs, panties and all, taking extra care not to strain her sprained ankle more than he had to.

"You were being an asshole." She said coolly.

He bowed down and pressed a soft kiss to her injured foot. She tried to contain the jolt that ran the whole length of her body, but she knew he noticed. He smiled when he looked at her again.

"Would you please take care of your shirt and bra yourself?" he drawled, "I'm much too distracted right now, I'm afraid."

She sent him a low growl, but did as he'd told her eventually. He almost felt his pupils dilate further when he looked at her naked breasts. Damn, he loved them. So soft, so warm, her rosy pale nipples his most favorite treat in the world. Next to the little, indefinitely sweet secrets she hid between her shapely legs.

He leant down and played with her nipples for a moment, sucking the hot little peaks into his mouth, feeling the flesh rise and pucker under his ministrations. He savored the little sound of loss she made when he took his lips away from her.

He squatted down and let his hand slide over her ankle, not putting any pressure into the caress, his fingers wandering upwards along her calf, her knee, her thigh. He heard her breath accelerating. Pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh, sucking at the soft flesh, marking her. She sighed. He smiled against her skin. He wanted more, wanted her screaming.

He felt her gaze brushing over his body, and he posed a little bit for her, tensing the muscles in his back and buttocks, hips swaying softly to direct her attention where it was direly needed. This was hers, and she didn't need to share it. With anybody.

He moved his lips to her sex, inhaling the sweet, heady scent of her arousal. Oh yeah, she wouldn't kick him out. It was his time to feast.

He parted her folds with his tongue and closed his lips around her straining clit. Feeling her rapid pulse against his teeth, hearing her startled, utterly aroused cry. He extended his tongue to fill her tight little void with it, making sure no drop of sweetness would escape him. She was so delicious he moaned with delight, slurping every ounce of her juices into his greedy mouth while she writhed against his face. He didn't need to look to know she was biting her lip to keep from screaming.

Oh, he would make her lose control. Just as she would wrench every hint of self-restraint from him in the end. Nobody could do that but Teresa Lisbon. His weakness, his salvation.

He felt it the split-second she came, felt it even before her walls tensed to contract around his thrusting, drinking tongue, her clit jerking against his mouth, a strangled cry falling from her lips.

He straightened before her convulsions ended and brought his cock to her sweet little opening that so screamed for him now.

"I want to taste you, too," she whispered.

"Oh no," he drawled, "you're sick and get what the doctor recommends."

He worked just the head of his manhood into the tight confines of her core and could already taste the loss of control on his tongue. He always fought to stay in full command of his body and mind, and every time she stripped him of it, made him so hot and vulnerable he couldn't breathe, couldn't think. The loss of composure was addictive for someone as restrained as Patrick Jane. He rarely showed his true colors. But she forced him to bare his soul. Get naked in more than the most obvious sense.

He gave her another inch of his cock, watched her head fall back and her lips part in bliss, felt the slow blooming of mind-blowing arousal in the pit of his stomach. She was so tight. Hot. His. The desire spread like dark, sweet syrup over his insides, wrenching a moan from his open mouth when he pushed deeper inside her, her slim body sucking him into her core.

He gripped her hips, pulling her to the edge of the seat.

"Damn, Jane," she growled between clenched teeth, "stop playing with me, or I'm gonna use my gun after all."

He managed a shaky half smile and put the chair on hold so it wouldn't move.

He put her good leg over the crook of his arm before he repeated the motion with the injured one, taking great care not to move her ankle too much and assure it stayed on the tabletop.

"Tell me if I'm hurting you," he rasped.

"Fuck me, Jane," she whimpered, squirming with need when the tip of his length twitched inside her.

He was so huge and so hot she could hardly stretch enough for his invasion.

Jane chuckled harshly and looked down, watching her body, so tiny, like the small frame of a fairy, swallowing his huge cock. The sight never failed to bring him to the brink of insanity. He heard his breathing going out of control and slid into her to the hilt, luring a strangled scream from her throat. He felt her walls stretching, dilating, fighting to accommodate him. He knew how much she loved this. She was woman enough to take him, wanted him to fill her tightness, wanted to test her own limits by playing with him. Getting fucked like this was no picnic for a woman like her, and it was exactly what both of them needed. No compromises. No decency. No subtle flavors. They needed heat, urgency, darkness.

There were a million things he wanted to do with her, and he knew she was game.

He urged her to wrap her good leg around his hips before he grabbed her waist and rubbed her groin against his, almost wailing with lust when her sweet little butt chafed against his sensitive balls. He felt the hunger grow, his shaft harden, expanding inside her to an almost impossible size. He moved, one, two, three strokes of steely erection deep inside her, passing her cervix to enter the fornix, the little space she reserved for the big guys. For him. She felt his cock searing her flesh with a path of fire, felt his pulsating veins rippling across her dripping walls every time he thrust into her, reveled in his strength, his speed, slowly getting faster, faster, fucking her opening so thoroughly, almost reverently, stretching her to the limit every time he surged again, cramming her, stuffing this petite little woman until she could all but taste him on her tongue.

He took her hard for some minutes, humping her with fast, deep thrusts, jackhammering in and out of her sweet, clutching core. He heard her getting louder, louder, every time he made impact, until he felt her start to climax all around him, sensed a killer scream coming, and he pulled her against him and swallowed her cry into his mouth, knowing the kiss would fuel her orgasm, would detonate her senses in a white-hot ball of ecstasy, his tongue fought with hers, a sexy duel both were helpless to stop, his hips still thrusting into her convulsing sheath, and she came more, came so hard the contractions of her womb were almost painful. She could taste him, taste the male sweetness of his mouth, feeling his hot, pure breath entering her body.

She shuddered in the throes of passion and felt him go rigid in her arms, panting into her mouth while his delicious heat shot into her, as hard as the punch of a fist, and her womb clenched some more under the onslaught of his rich seed, flooding her insides with a stream of pure, liquid fire.

Jane threw his head back and emptied himself into her, shuddering with the force of his release, clutching her small frame against his broad chest, everything gone from his mind but the earth-shattering feeling of utter, complete satisfaction streaming through his blood, bathing every cell of his body in warmth.

These were the moments where he could feel happiness. Hope.

He lowered his head and kissed her neck, her shoulder, feeling her tremble with the aftershocks of her orgasm.

Her hands slid to his buttocks, kneading the round flesh with her tiny hands, tracing the contours of the hard muscle beneath the soft skin.

He chuckled.

"You can play with that later," he whispered hoarsely, "let's get you home."

She growled in disappointment when he extricated himself from her arms and slipped from her tight confines, his seed trickling out of her in hot little rivulets.

Jane was already up, dressing.

"You want Jim to find us on his next round, sweet little agent Lisbon?" he drawled, "Sweaty, panting, smelling of sex and still blazing with need?"

She chuckled.

"You're still blazing with need?"

"I always am when I'm close to you," he smiled, assisting her with her pants to make sure her foot wouldn't pain her more than necessary.

He brushed the angry bruise with his fingertips.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"For what?" she asked, pulling her shirt over her head.

"For causing you to get injured." He answered. "I was secretly thinking about you the whole day, wallowing in guilt, asking myself how you'd be feeling. I'm not really an asshole, you know. I just play the role to amuse you. In truth, I have a soft spot for you the size of Texas."

She chuckled.

"What do you plan to do to repay your debt, Patrick Jane?" she asked sternly.

"Hmm, let me think," he said slowly, "I could carry you to my car."

"Not enough." She said, shaking her head.

"What else could you want, my sexy mistress?" he drawled, showering her injured ankle with butterfly kisses.

"You know exactly what I want." She whispered.

He looked at her and made love to her with his eyes for a moment, a slow, knowing smile blossoming on his beautiful lips.

"Okay," he breathed, "I surrender. You can play with me later, use my body in every way you deem appropriate. No matter how naughty, filthy and depraved those games may get."

She smiled back.

"Well," she said, "now that's an offer I can't decline. For now, you can carry me to your car."

"Your wish is my command," he murmured and picked her up into his arms, searching her lips to claim them in a hot, luscious kiss full of dirty promises.

**The End**

_So- how was that?_


End file.
